Tag Archives: Climb

Sitting in my friend Sarah’s Vermont apartment this morning with hot tea and EatingWell Magazine in hand, I turned my head slightly to the left to look out at the falling snow. What I saw amidst the six inches already on the ground and the blowing snow rapidly falling from the clouds was a man. A man in shorts. Short shorts, to be more specific. Before my mind could register the oddity of seeing a man strolling in hot pants in a blizzard, he had vanished around the corner. Thinking he may need some sort of assistance — like a blanket or a phone to call for his pants — I ran outside after him. “Nah, I’m fine,” he said when I nervously asked him if he was ok, “sometimes I just like to be cold.” I took that as my cue to leave him alone, and I returned to my tea.

It was a memorable moment to start off 2011. And it made me think about my memorable moments of 2010. Many of my blogger-friends have been posting “2010 in Review via Photos.” I decided to sift through my 2010 photos just to see what I did during the year, and to my surprise I was inundated with an array of emotions. How did I forget everything that happened in 2010? Did I really travel, finish graduate school, move down the country, begin new sports, and basically change every aspect of my life? Say, what?

Spending a few minutes to remind yourself of what has been done transforms the way you think about where you are going. You are reminded of your accomplishments, your failures, your family, your friends, and most importantly, your growth. For me, I am reminded that the moments when I try new things are the moments I am most happy and most proud. So, here are a few new things and new places that made up my 2010.

When you’re from the Northeast, life is about the Northeast. Vermonters want to be their own country, Mainers won’t eat seafood outside of their state, and Massachusettsians, well, will shoot you if you’re not a Red Sox fan. So when you’re a climber, you take pride in the cliffs of shist that make up the Green Mountains, you burry yourself in the granite of the Adirondacks (or “‘Dacks” if you’re a true climbing bum), and you practically live on the routes of Rumney and Cannon in New Hampshire.

And, as a true Northeastern climber myself, our snobbery is completely justified. Our mountains are beautiful. Stoic. We have lakes surrounded by cliffs and rivers that divide mountain ranges. We have temperate summers where the sky glows orange and purple behind the tall peaks at sunset. Our winters bring with them feet of snow and walls of ice for the ski-lovers and ice climbers. We even take pride in “mud season” by getting our mountain bikes out of winter storage and hitting the trails.

But if there’s one place Northeastern climbers always plan on going it’s Joshua Tree National Park in the desert of California. University wilderness programs take annual trips to J-Tree, posters of J-Tree have a permanent spot on climbing gym walls, and you always hear “aw, man, I wanna go” when someone mentions an upcoming trip. So when my partner Jeremy suggested a spontaneous trip to J-Tree last Christmas, I grabbed my tent and gear, and we booked tickets to leave on Christmas day (cheap flights on Christmas) and to return two weeks later, just in time for me to begin writing my graduate thesis.

I knew little about what to expect, except that J-Tree had countless numbers of quartzite routes and that coyotes howl in packs at night. When we pulled into the park at 4am, after our 5-hour flight from Boston and 4-hour drive from Vegas, all we could see were stars unimpeded by pollution and lighting up everything they touched. We set up the tent and crawled in just in time to hear the musical stylings of the coyote symphony.

I’d be lying if I said I was comfortable this first night. Or, the first few nights. I made Jeremy stand watch for coyotes while I used the bathroom (when he, of course, would just roll his eyes), and I flailed excessively in my sleeping bag to stay warm when the temperatures dipped below freezing. Miserably cold on the third night, I woke Jeremy up, threw him into our rental car, and drove 30 minutes to the Wal-Mart to buy a $20 sleeping bag to line the inside of mine. Once finally warm with a good night of sleep, I focused on our endless days of climbing. And with every handhold, finger jam, and step I became a stronger and stronger climber.

There is something magical that happens to a climber, at least to me, when I’m outside of the comfort of my home turf. Even though there are always new routes to climb in the Northeast, routes that will challenge my technique and strength, climbing at J-Tree challenged more than that. Traveling away from the place where you work and study, away from the life that you know, and entering a territory where everything is new—from the sights to sounds to rock to people—allows you to surpass your obstacles and make fresh choices.

In terms of ratings, by the end of our J-Tree trip I was climbing 5.10b’s with ease, routes that I struggled with back at home. But most importantly, I gained a certain type of confidence that no matter how hard I tried to gain at home I always fell short. I took falls (into yucca plants), I split open knuckles on sharp quartz crystals, and I bruised knees and elbows. But, I had no tears or fears, and for the first time in my life I felt strong and, well, pretty kick-ass. (And if you grew up as a scrawny bookworm like me, you know that this feeling is long-awaited).

Yucca, known for its "sword-shaped leaves"

I chose to reflect on my trip now, almost 1 year later, because I have recently moved to the mountains of Western North Carolina where everything is again new. And while I’ll never get those two weeks back in a tent with just Jeremy, my climbing shoes, and a new boost of confidence, I do get to fight new climbing challenges and new challenges of the mind and body. It is a new place where I’ve started trad leading and even started new sports like trail running. And even though I know I’ll start to get the itch to try somewhere else new soon, every day adds something new to learn from and something new that will only make my mind and body stronger.

I wanna do a lot of things. I wanna rock climb. Ice climb. Run. Bike. Swim. I wanna go to yoga classes, spinning classes, and zumba classes. And I wanna do these things around the world—France, Switzerland, India, and Thailand. But in reality that’s a lot of wannas and not enough cannas. Except for those few amazing (and annoying) people who miraculously pull off doing all of their “I wannas,” most of us have to work (or look for work in my case). We need money. We need to pay off student loans. We need to pay for health insurance. And we need to eat. Traveling the world is certainly not an option, and even the gear that we need to tackle some of our “I wannas” is more than we can afford. So should we whine about it?

Yes. I do. But lately I’ve been trying to be a bit less whiney and a bit more practical in my approach to outdoor sports. Take the facts as they are: we need to exercise to stay healthy. We need the outdoors to stay sane. We need things that are free.

But there’s another obstacle that I’m often faced with—getting off the couch. My “I wannas” sometimes really mean “I wish I would,” and they often float in their mythical bubble around my apartment, laughing at me as I sip my tea and watch youtube videos of climbers.

So how do we practically manage our “I wannas?” I’m tempted to be full of clichés and assert that we need goals, organization, and budgets. But, as I’ve learned, goals often change when we’re stressed or busy, no one can actually stay organized, and budgets are often interrupted by unexpected costs (like vet bills and car problems). So, here’s what I do. Make friends with outdoor people. I was lucky enough to meet my boyfriend in a gear shop (as he was working) who later became a rock climbing guide. Gear, done. Free lessons, done. (And I promise, I was not using him for these perks when we started dating. Now, well, I get what I want).

Most importantly, although I allow myself to try new activities with friends, I really only choose a few activities that I do on a regular basis. Here’s an inspiration: My dad, 58 years old, swims 4,500+ yards every day of the week. When he’s sick? Swims. Hurt? Swims. Tired? Swims. Travelling? Swims. Every excuse that I use he tackles by getting in the pool. And his mantra is simply quoting Woody Allen, “95% of life is showing up.” Swimming for him has become a natural part of the day—just as we make coffee in the morning, brush our teeth, or check our e-mails. His colleagues know not to call him before 8:30am because his phone will be off, and they know not to expect him at work until 9:00. It’s simply a part of his life.

For me, the way to follow my dad’s example is to find a sport that I cannot turn down. I know I’ll never get up at 6am every morning to run because for me running is just a way to stay in shape. It doesn’t empower me. But I know that I will get up at 6am to climb some rock or even some plastic in a gym. I know that when I start moving, start following a route, I will be focused on mind and body. That’s my “I wanna.” What’s yours?

My life tends to be a moving paradox: I hate being cold but I love winter, I don’t like heights but I climb 800 foot cliffs, and my 108 pounds can lift a surprising amount of weight. When winter hit New England last year, I said I was not going to try ice climbing—cold, wet, scary ice? No. Climbing on rock was one thing, climbing on slippery, easy-breaking ice was a whole other game that I had no interest in playing.

But when Jeremy showed up with my size boots, extra ice tools, and hand warmers, I only had two choices in front me: work on my graduate thesis or go play in the woods. I put on all of my Black Diamond, Mammut, North Face, and Patagonia gear (it pays having a partner who works in a gear shop), opened bags of foot and hand warmers, said bye to my dog (just in case I didn’t come back), and headed in 10-degree weather to Vermont’s Smuggler’s Notch.

Smuggler’s Notch, known for its ski resort, is close to some of Vermont’s most popular winter get-a-ways and attractions—Stowe and, of course, the Ben and Jerry’s Factory. But deep inside the notch, tourists are scarce, and aside from the occasional backcountry skier all you see are snow-covered trees, frozen boulders, and vertical waterfalls. And amidst this winter wonderland, all you feel is the not-so-pleasant wind tunnel that sweeps through the notch.

The only advice that I received from my ice-expert partner was “shake out your arms often so you don’t vomit from pain later.” And all I heard from that was “vomit” and “pain.” I giggled nervously, checked my rope and crampons, swung my ice tools around my wrists (no one trusted me climbing without leashes), and made my way over to the waterfall.

It was beautiful. Stoic. Unyielding. I swung my first pick high above my head, shouted a good “woot!” when it stuck solidly into the ice, swung the other, and baby-stepped up to my arms. Shake. Swing. Step. I glided up the route, forgetting the -10-degree wind chill and my fear. Although I was thankful that the route was short (I was exhausted after about 20 feet), I also did not want to stop.

What amazed me most about climbing ice was the mental transformation that occurred organically. Nothing was paradoxical and nothing invaded my mind except my movement. I was not a skinny 26-year old bookworm attempting to ice climb. I was strong. Focused. Empowered.

Climbing ice, like climbing rock, takes so much more than brute strength; it takes strength of the mind and strength in movement. You can have chicken legs and weigh half of your (often male) climbing partner. For me, it is a sport that empowers mind and body as well as closes that gender gap that I find invades many other sports.

As ice season grows near, I am stocking up on hand and foot warmers, and I’m saving up for my own gear. And although ice screws seem a bit scary, I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to lead-climb ice.

Like this:

~ We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be. ~ Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

When I started clawing my way up rock (yes, it certainly was clawing) about a year and a half ago, I got the typical questions from the typical mom: Are you going to die? What if you die? How will you not die? And then from dad: Cool, but you could die, right? Don’t you think that might not be the safest sport? My answer always began with a dramatic description of what rock climbing was doing to my soul—“it centers me, challenges my mind and my movement, creates a feeling of tranquility, cliché, cliché, and cliché.” And my answer always ended with, “I’m hanging from a top rope; if I fall I don’t actually fall.”

I spent a good year top roping in Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, and the beautiful Joshua Tree National Park gaining strength, technique, and a new perspective on rock climbing. Rock climbing became more than a sport that “centers” me and gives me tranquility (although, as cheesy as it sounds, it actually does do that), but it also gives me a way to manage my anxiety and set a mental goal that must equally translate into a physicality and corporeal experience. I can’t cheat my way through a climb like I can in the pool, on a bike, or on a run. There is no “good climb” like there is a “good run.” Instead, there is a climb. A route. And then there is me and my distant belayer.

But a lot of my mentality changed this week when I led my first traditional (“trad”) climb. I no longer was hanging from a rope, and I actually could fall. And while I certainly was not letting mom and dad in on the secret (or definition) of trad climbing, my mind certainly was racing with some reservations—not so much ones of falling and dying, but ones of confidence. Am I ready to set my own gear? Have I practiced enough? Am I strong enough?

And, note, for those of you who do not know what trad gear looks like, I don’t think mom and dad would’ve been too much at ease seeing the type of gear that would potentially save my life—like this cam.

Or even better, this nut.

So with some confidence issues I began leading my first trad climb on a granite crack on the Southside of Looking Glass in Western North Carolina.

Placing my gear on my harness.

The beginning of the route.

On top rope, this is a climb I could’ve ran up in 10 minutes, but with no rope keeping me in the air, I took the tortoise’s route, slow and steady. I studied the cracks, placed many more pieces than necessary (resulting in Jeremy, my belayer, shouting to me from the ground to “save your gear”), and carefully thought each hand and foot hold. I’d lie if I said I did this with much grace and ease, even if Jeremy described me as “trad leading like a beast.” What kind of beast he didn’t specify.

I tend to get a little sassy when I climb. I gripe when my fingers freeze in November when climbing in Vermont or when I have to wear a down coat climbing in J-Tree’s January. I “woot” when I climb a 5.11 to an annoying degree. And I certainly give Jeremy sass when he puts me on a hard crack climb where finger, hand, and arm jamming are necessary. (Seriously, if you think I have chicken legs, you should see my arms). But after my trad climb only came a deep breath, a high five, and a peaceful hike out. I was the only one who could guide me on that climb and the only one who was responsible for its completion. I was simply empowered.

It sure helped that autumn has begun in WNC. You just can’t be sassy when you see mountains like these.

As I’ve mentioned before, I am anxiety-prone; I’d say I’m your average freaker-outer. I worry about flying, brain tumors, natural disasters, but I have also learned how to channel my nervous energy into positive activities. (Sounds like the beginning to an infomercial, eh?). It wasn’t until I started rock climbing about a year and a half ago that I really began to understand that “mind over matter” actually works and that a sport can transform and balance mind, body, and spirit.

I’ve always been a climber—trees, rocks, playgrounds—but there is something very different about the sport of rock climbing then just enjoying being a monkey. It’s an economy of movement, a ballet, that connects your mind to the rock, to the route, and to your own body. I know it sounds sappy and a little hokey, but when I’m climbing I never think about anything but the movement itself, and while I’m no expert, I know that my body will do what I ask of it.

Jeremy and I moved into our little house in Asheville yesterday (hence why I haven’t written in a few days), and I have spent every minute of the past two days unpacking. And while it is very much exciting, I can’t help but fall back into that unemployed depression. And then anxiety. So I think about climbing and immediately plan a small climbing outing for tomorrow evening when Jeremy is free from work. We will probably just do some light bouldering out toward the Pisgah National Forest, but I already feel rejuvenated.

Two weekends ago Jeremy and I completed our first Blue Ridge Mountain climb on a rock formation called Looking Glass.

This is Looking Glass as seen from the Blue Ridge Parkway.

We climbed a 4 pitch route, my first multi-pitch climb, called The Nose. It took us about 5 hours to climb up and rappel down. We started early to beat the sun and other climbers, and we soaked up the view as we rested at each pitch. It was a beautiful way to be introduced to Western North Carolina, and it made both of us thirsty for more rock.

View from Pitch 1 on The Nose.

I’m curious to see how climbing “fits” with my triathlon training, especially since I plan to get back into a regular climbing schedule. Because of the move, I haven’t done anything more than sit-ups, so tomorrow I will run and climb. My guess is that climbing will strengthen my core and make my body even more ready for the triathlon. No matter what I do, I never really gain much muscle weight, so I’m not worried about having any drastic body changes. I am, however, being much more conscious of my protein intake now that I am on a meat-less diet.

As for the kitchen, I’m still exploring vegetarian cooking. Candy took the reins to my last meal at their house and made delicious stuffed peppers. Her secret? Just use everything left over in the fridge—including barley, mushrooms, olives, pine nuts, and more! It was simple, tasty, and hearty!

So I guess the point of this post is to express how anxiety can be controlled, or at least manipulated, by finding something like climbing that can transform your mind and body, even if for only a short time. And, of course, nothing is more enjoyable than eating a colorful, creative meal!